Some things stay the same, some things change

Met some friends on Saturday night for a drink at a lovely wee bar in the city. When I say wee I mean the whole bar is smaller than my living room and, of course, packed to the rafters. It's covered in posters and album covers from the 50s through to the 70s and has made little or no concession to modernity and fashion the decor being more 19th century than anything else - an original parlour bar. That in itself has made it fashionable, for now. The irony. The toilets consist of 1 cubicle per sex (although I dare say they may at times accommodate more than 1) and if you squeeze through the bodies to get to them before you have to give your foot a warm shower you really should be given a medal. It's situated in one of the old streets, cobbled with parking on one side only as it's so narrow. When I was looking for somewhere to park I crawled up the street past the front door at the very same time a 6 ft 9 transvestite (who hosts a gay club around the corner) was leaving. I looked like a curb-crawler cruising within 2 feet of this blond mini-skirted giant. Inside Bisongrass and 7yr old Havana rum helped grease the vocal cords and we had the penultimate ripping the arse out of each other session before one of the triumvirate moves to live in Australia. Hard to think he'll be gone soon. We all feel it but being men can't do any more than scrape the surface when we're face to face of how it'll change all our lives. I will get something written down for him. He's a good, deep, intelligent, warm hearted, big fucker and I know I'll get him blubbing and, if I'm honest, me too.